The Dying Game
by bellamytbh
Summary: After the brutal murder of their mother, twins Bellamy and Octavia Blake are thrust into the center of a cruel game by a masked serial killer threatening to pick off their friends one by one. - Inspired by cliché yet iconic horror/slasher movies such as Scream, Halloween and I Know What You Did Last Summer.
1. well, it's time for someone new to die

Death. Bellamy Blake didn't fully grasp the concept until it was served to him on a silver platter. His own mother, dead.

Murdered was the correct term.

The clouds looked heavy in the sky, as if they were attached to a thread – threatening to detach at any second. He stood stoically over an empty six-foot hole in the ground, watching as strange men lowered his parent's body into the Earth. Her coffin, a deep shade of brown, adorned with bouquets of flowers brought by relatives he had not heard from in years.

He let his hand fall to his side and inched it closer towards his twin sister, Octavia. The two interlocked fingers, holding on to each-other out of fear that there wouldn't be anything else to hold on too soon. Bellamy looked down at her, a girl once so bright and full of life, had slowly been drained. The protruding dark bags underneath her brown eyes seemed to create a slide for her tears. She shivered in the wind and moved closer to her brother.

But Bellamy was cold too, hardened by this nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

To his right was John Murphy, but to Bellamy, he was just Murphy. The slender boy pulled his arms closer to his chest, refusing to let his body's warmth flee. Bellamy was glad that Murphy came, in fact he showed no signs of hesitation when the morbid opportunity was offered.

Tree branches began to quiver, as if they wept with him. The sun offered up its last ray as the casket, void of a life, settled into its new home.

 **one year later.**

Pop music blared through a pair of speakers hung up haphazardly on the wall. The wooden floors beneath Bellamy's feet thudded, matching each note of the song. Hormonal, acne-ridden teenagers colliding their bodies against one another in some misdirected attempt to find a partner for the night. The room smelled of sweat and cheap liquor, along with the occasional scent of marijuana – probably embedded in some red-eyed teenager's clothes from a previous smoke session.

Bellamy stood, his back pressed against the wall, his hands holding a plastic red cup of water between them. It was loud, too loud. He could feel the early stages of a headache settling in. The colors of the ever-flashing strobe lights made the scene look like something out of some cliché teen party movie. But that's what it was. A party. It was _the_ end of the year party, thrown every June to mark the end of the school year. Of course, it wasn't a school-sanctioned event. It was always at some random senior's house, one with rich parents and a big house the entire student body could destroy for the night.

Murphy pushed through a crowd of dancing teens and inserted himself next to Bellamy, the alcoholic liquid in his own cup splashing onto his hands, he licked the drops off and looked up at his boyfriend. "Having fun?" he asked.

Bellamy made a 'I can't hear you' gesture.

Murphy leaned in closer, his lips trailing along the other boy's ear, "Having fun?" he asked, slightly louder.

Bellamy shrugged his shoulders, "I'll have more fun now that you're here." He smirked.

The two boys had been inseparable since the tail end of sophomore year, so they had been dating for about two years now. They did everything together, shop, eat, sleep, it was almost as if they were married. Their relationship turned last year when Bellamy's mother was murdered – it was a deeply emotional time which seemed to strengthen the two's bond, but at the same time Bellamy grew cold and shut Murphy out for a while.

Octavia, on the other hand, didn't have a romantic partner to turn too last year. It wasn't until only a few months ago did she find Lincoln, a college sophomore who she fell madly in love with. And a little too quickly, for Bellamy's taste. There were times where Bellamy felt like Lincoln was playing Octavia, and there were times where he tried to keep the two apart. But it was only in Bellamy's nature to be over-protective, he was the big brother after all.

Even if he was only older by three minutes.

There was no father in the picture for the twins, and after the loss of their mother, the only parental figure the two had was their mother's brother. They moved in with him and he has provided generously. But, he was emotionally distant and the twins couldn't blame him. He lost a sister.

So, Octavia only had Bellamy looking out for her.

Bryan, a six foot four, freckled, brown-haired, baby-faced, football stud came tumbling into the room, he held up both arms and received a mighty round of applause from the party-goers. Bellamy didn't understand why; football season was long over. But, Bryan was the quarterback of the local college's team and therefor a local hero around the small town. Bellamy gripped onto his shoulder, "Hey, you've seen Octavia?" he inquired.

Bryan took a swig of his drink, the pungent stench of alcohol slapping Bellamy in the face when he opened his mouth. "Yeah! She's upstairs. With Lincoln." Bryan winked as if he forgot that the inappropriate gesture wouldn't sit well with Octavia's brother.

"Thanks." Bellamy let the man go off into the center of the party as Bellamy moved in the opposite direction – away from it – as Murphy followed closely behind.

Bryan and Lincoln were best friends, both high school football stars that couldn't seem to let that small town fame die and decided to became the next best thing - college football stars. They did everything together, camped, hiked, ate, probably slept at the same time, they even worked at the same movie theater. If Lincoln wasn't dating Octavia, Bellamy would've assumed he was gay.

And with that thought two other guys Bellamy always thought were gay came tumbling into the slightly vacant living room: Jasper Jordan and Monty Green. These two were also best friends, but not football stars. They were the town's local geeks/stoners, always talking about some cheap horror movie, some dumb video game, or some good weed.

Monty was inebriated, obviously, running wild, and a sober Jasper was trailing behind him trying to get a hold of the other boy. The scene looked like a farmer trying to catch a slippery, muddy pig.

"Come on Monty, I gotta get you home!" Jasper pleaded.

"One! More! Drink!" Monty's word slurred into one another, the vowels crashing and the consonants fading.

"You need some help Jasper?" Bellamy asked, handing his cup of water to Murphy, preparing to jump into the scene.

"Please." Jasper's wide eyes said enough.

The two boys covered the exits of the room, Monty ran back and forth between them, trying to slip through random passerby's in a desperate hope to sneak off into the party room and get more liquor. Eventually the boy tired out and Bellamy managed to scoop him up into his arms.

"You guys are no fun!" A sleepy Monty proclaimed as Bellamy loaded him into the back of Jasper's jeep.

"You're a life-saver bro." Jasper gave Bellamy a friendly slap on the back, in which Bellamy responded with a nod and a wish for him to drive safely.

Bellamy turned on his heels and was just about to head back into the party when his pocket vibrated. He dug his fingers into the opening of the fabric of his jeans and slipped out his,

Cell phone.

A text.

From an unknown number.

Bellamy blinked in the laminating glow, his eyes scrunched as he made out the small array of words in front of him.

"You love helping, Bellamy. But you can't help everyone. You can't save everyone."

The text was cryptic, and Bellamy didn't know what to make of it.

So, he tucked his phone into his back pocket and headed back to the party, telling no one of the text.

And later that night, a brutal murder would rock the small town to its core and open closed wounds that would set off a new mystery, with Bellamy and his twin sister, Octavia, at its center.

Welcome to: The Dying Game.


	2. death has come to your town, sheriff

Monty Green.

The name would come to haunt Octavia for days to come.

Her lips pursed and her brows furrowed, a single tear threatening to spill as her eyes glazed over the television screen. A blonde news-woman named Hillary spoke slowly, somberly, as she allowed the viewers to grasp at the words she was throwing at them at seven in the morning.

Monty Green.

Dead.

No, murdered was the correct term.

Murdered in his own home.

Hillary went on to talk about the crime scene, bloody, obscene, heart-breaking.

Octavia couldn't help but think of poor Monty Green, inebriated after the party unable to fend off some intruder, crying for help. But, there was no one around to help. She thought of poor Monty Green, alone and scared, taking his last shallow breath on the floor of his bedroom.

Octavia swiftly grabbed at the remote beside her and turned the television off. The noise coming to an immediate stop and the house settling into its natural quiet. But the buzzing inside her own head refused to settle. She closed her Bambi eyes and took a deep breath, counting the cycles.

One.

Inhale.

Two.

Exhale.

Three.

Inhale.

She could see them behind the closed curtain of her eyelids. The news reporters storming at her, asking her what she thought about her mother's murder, who could have possibly done such a thing. The lights of their cameras blinding her, their intrusive questions disguised as caring and thoughtful ones. She could feel her twin brother gripping her arm, pulling her closer towards him; urging her to use him as a shield while police escorted them to the front door of their home. Their mother's home. Where their mother was murdered, in her bedroom.

Alone.

Like Monty Green.

Octavia's breaths quickened now.

One, inhale, exhale.

Two, inhale, exhale.

Three, inhale.

She was forgetting to exhale. The breath hitched in her throat, she was choking on her own air.

"Breathe, Octavia." The brown-haired girl reminded herself, just like her therapist had taught her. But, the oxygen felt toxic in her throat. She couldn't stop picturing her mother, bloody and bruised, crying out for help as some intruder forced a knife into her abdomen and then taking that sharp metal and stabbing her literally in the back. Octavia thought about that strange man, wiping down every surface with bleach, carefully and intricately, making sure nothing could be traced back to him; as her mother watched through teary-eyes, bleeding out on the carpet.

Of course, there had been several suspects. Local sex offenders. Ex-cons. Biker guys from bars. Neighbors. Distant relatives even. But there was never a total match. Part of Octavia had wished someone was charged and jailed, just to ease her mind. But, another part of Octavia knew it was unfair to imprison an innocent man – even if they had committed crimes in the past.

Octavia shook her head, begging herself to think of something different. The calculus final on Friday.

Her mother was good at calculus.

The new episode of her favorite TV show.

Her mother used to watch TV with her.

No matter what she thought about, her mother somehow find a way to include herself. And now here she was again, loud and bright, being mocked in Monty's murder.

Octavia opened her eyes. She couldn't let this destroy her.

Not like last time.

* * *

Bellamy pulled the white earbuds out of his ear and took his assigned seat. Homeroom was his least favorite part of the day, but fortunately there was only a week and some change left till the end of his senior year. He had never believed when people told him that high school would fly by, "its four years, that's a hell of a long time." He had thought to himself. But, now he was here. The end.

Now that he thought about it, his high school experience was nothing note-worthy. He hadn't dated much, one girlfriend freshman year, and then he had dated Murphy throughout the rest. Football games attended: maybe three or two. Number of t-shirts he owned stamped with his high school logo: zero. He had been high or drunk way less than his peers had, in fact the first time he had done either was during the summer of his junior year – and that was only because he needed something to help him cope. After a string of late night throw ups and a very concerned Octavia, he had sworn off self-medicating.

Bellamy still remembered that morning. His body slumped lazily across his uncle's leather couch, the taste of vomit still present in the back of his throat. His clothes smelled like stale smoke, his eyes puffy and auburn tinted. Octavia stood over him, her hair wet from the shower she had just took, the water droplets falling onto his forehead, pulling him from his sleep. He wanted to say something but all he could muster up was a "hmm" and a groan.

Octavia had always been a stoic girl, refusing to show emotions unless necessary. When their mother died, she cried alone in her room and wouldn't let Bellamy in. But, that morning, she knelt by Bellamy's side and her eyes welled up. He hated making Octavia cry.

"I won't be able to live if you die, Bell." Was all she sobbed out before leaving him alone with his stench and half-empty mind.

At first, Bellamy remembered how selfish she must've been to even say that. The therapist had prescribed her medication after the emotional breakdown she went through. She didn't need cheap weed and their uncle's liquor. But the therapist gave Bellamy nothing, he had talked to her several times, stating how torn up he felt. Bellamy had shared deep, personal emotional conflicts but the therapist said he was coping fine and offered up breathing techniques. Fucking breathing techniques! As if that would help.

He grew to resent Octavia a little. Watching her stroll through the school hallways, freshly medicated and feeling fine. Bellamy had wished someone was helping him through the whole thing, but he was alone.

"You guys heard about Monty?" a hushed voice in the back of the classroom caught Bellamy's attention – his ears perked up and his head titled ever so slightly to hear.

"It's so sad..." a girl responded, "I heard his mother found him, she nearly had a heart attack." There were nods and sounds of agreements and 'yeah I heard that too'.

"My aunt's a cop." One guy started, knowing that sentence alone would establish the credibility of whatever line he was about to throw out next, "said he was stabbed nine times, but was already dead after the third one."

Bellamy's heart sunk. Monty Green, dead. The news reverberating in his ears, his brain refusing to process the information. How? Bellamy had saw him just this weekend, talked to him, helped him, touched him.

"This whole thing reminds me of last year, y'know, when that woman was murdered… what was her name?" One of the girls said a little too loudly.

The conversation was struck dead by one of the boys placing a finger on his lips, "Shh!" he spat before gesturing to the door, "She's here."

She.

Octavia stood in the doorframe of the class, subtly pronouncing her arrival. The sun's light, reflecting through the windows in the hall, shone upon her skin; making her look like a slow, hazy dream.

Her chocolate hair sat delicately upon her shoulders in loose curls. She wore sweatpants and a baggy sweater: a sign of how much she could care less to be here. Her dull clothes contrasted the natural beauty she was.

The kids in the back of the class had stopped talking because they were talking about her mother, who was also Bellamy's mother, but it seemed as if they forgot who he was entirely.

Octavia made her way over to her twin and took a seat next to him. "Monty…" she started.

"I know." He finished.

"I'm scared, Bell."

"Me too."

It was a frightening situation to be in. The fact they had never found the guy who murdered their murder and the fact Monty's murder was eerily like the former, was enough to make the twin's skin crawl.

The girl took a deep breath, "You don't think it could be the same guy?"

Bellamy shook his head, "No way." He lied. It could definitely be the same guy, but sending Octavia into some deep emotional breakdown was the last thing he wanted right now.

The bell rang and in some odd synchronization, the homeroom teacher walked in. Mr. Prescott was an older man of maybe fifty, with a patchy beard and shoulder-length grey hair reminiscent of his hippie youth days. He carried a leather briefcase in one hand and a yellow piece of paper in the other. Mr. Prescott spoke loud and coherently, "I'm sure you've all heard the tragic news. Guidance counselors are here to help anyone who needs them. Along with law enforcement, who are on campus to ask a few people some questions – first person they want to see is…" the man looked down at the piece of paper. "Octavia Blake."

Octavia was lead to the principal's office by the secretary, the woman's boney fingers pressing into the skin of the young girl's back, and seated in an uncomfortable metallic chair.

Chief of Police Marcus Kane sat in front of her. Kane was a familiar face but not for great reasons.

"Octavia." He offered up a warm smile and a firm handshake. "How you holding up?"

She shrugged her shoulders, that was a good question. She wasn't holding up; she was scared and her emotions were pushing her down. "Fine." She lied.

Kane's eyes lingered on her a little too long as if he was trying to read between the lines of 'fine' but when he saw no ounce of emotion rise from the girl, he moved behind the desk and pulled out a manila folder. "What can you tell me about Monty Green, or maybe the party on Saturday."

"I wasn't really friends with Monty…" she started "I was at the party, so was almost every other person at this school, Kane." Her words became a little bit hostile, this felt like a confrontation, as if he were pointing 'she did it' fingers.

"You're not a suspect, Octavia. This is just a formality."

She nodded, bullshit.

"What about Jasper Jordan? Can you tell me anything about him? He was the last person to see Monty alive."

Octavia doubted that Jasper had anything to do with this, "They were best friends. Bell told me that Jasper drove Monty home because he was drunk."

Kane nodded, information he already knew. The chief slid the manila folder across the desk, "There are some pictures from the crime scene in there, I want you to take a look at them."

"I don't want to … look at them, Kane."

Kane opened the folder anyways, the polaroid showed Monty Green, his face almost recognizable, frozen in an expression of fear. His clothes were tattered and blood-stained, fresh wounds underneath gave show to his insides. His body mangled and grotesquely positioned at the foot of his bed.

Octavia winced and turned away.

"That's all, you're free to go."

* * *

"He's such a fucking asshole!" Octavia proclaimed into her phone. "I don't understand why he would even show me that… it was disgusting…" Octavia shook her head trying to get the image of Monty out of it.

"I know, baby. Kane lets the power get to his head, just think about during the investigation…"

"He thought that Bellamy fucking did it!" Octavia's words were red-hot.

There was a moment of silence, a deep breath, "You're still coming over, right?" Octavia asked.

Lincoln nodded, "My shift ends in an hour."

"Kay, I'll see you later. Love you." The girl hung up. She tossed her cell phone onto the leather couch and turned her head to stare at the clock above the wall, it was eight o'clock. She had the house to herself, her uncle was away, Bellamy was with Murphy and thus, Lincoln would be spending the night. He offered to stay with Octavia and the gesture was thoroughly appreciated, there was no way she wanted to spend the night alone. Especially this night.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Octavia swiped at her cell phone on the couch and accepted the call, "Are you calling back because I hung up without letting you say 'I love you too'?" Octavia teased.

There was a dead silence on the other end.

"Lincoln?"

"Who's Lincoln?" The caller on the other end asked, the voice deep and husky, almost robotic.

"Oh, sorry. I thought this was someone else." Octavia apologized, taking the phone off her ear and looking down at it. The bright screen flashed to life, 'unknown caller' it read. "Who is this?"

"Who do you want it to be?"

Octavia didn't understand the question, "What?"

The caller side-stepped around the question, "Those pictures Kane showed you today were quite frightening, weren't they?" The voice drew out their words, sharply pronouncing every single letter, popping their T's, and accentuating their I's.

"How'd… how'd you know about that?"

A chuckle, "It was my own work after all, forgot to sign my name at the bottom."

The words sent a shiver down Octavia's spine, her teeth gritting against one another, "Who the fuck is this?!" She pressed the phone closer to her ear.

"It's a secret only me and Monty know. I showed him my face right before I gutted him. And you know what they say; two can keep a secret if one of them is dead!"

Octavia fucking hated Pretty Little Liars.

"I'm hanging up!" She threatened.

"Oh no! Please don't!" The caller mocked.

Octavia found herself unable to pull away from the call, her fingers wrapped tightly around the case of her phone.

"You like games, Octavia?"

Octavia couldn't find the words to reply.

"I have a fun one for you!"

Octavia's face flushed, her stomach twisting and turning.

"Here's how to play, answer the question right and you live!"

A pause.

"Answer it wrong, and you die!"

Octavia found herself forcing her feet to move. First to the front door, locking it. Then to the backdoor, already locked. She peered out the window, all she saw was darkness. Her uncle's house was in the middle of nowhere. "Go fuck yourself!" she exclaimed.

There was that same chuckle before the voice came to a halt, "How many times did I stab Monty?" Octavia felt as if the caller counted out every letter in every word before he spoke.

"I don't fucking know!" She moved into the kitchen, picking up the landline, her nimble fingers moving over the numbers nine-one-one, she was just about to dial when,

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…" The caller sang.

Octavia's neck whipped around, her hair hitting her in the face as her round eyes darted throughout the house, there was no one there. No way this guy could possibly know what she was doing. "Do what?" she asked innocently.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot!" The voice yelled out, Octavia winced. "Put that fucking fifteen-year-old phone down you bitch."

Octavia had half the mind to call anyways, but for some reason, she complied.

"Good! Now let me repeat the question: how many times did I stab Monty?"

Octavia rubbed at her temples, she had no clue.

"Come on, think! You looked at that picture Kane showed you… count the wounds."

The picture appeared vivid and bright in the girl's mind, clear as day. She could notice every single stray hair on top of Monty's head. "Nine." She breathed out.

"Congratulations!" The caller shouted, "Now next question!"

Octavia stopped them, "What the fuck? You didn't say there was another question! That's the end of the game! Leave me alone!"

"Oh sweetie… that was just the practice round. Here's the real question: where am I?"

Octavia shivered, "I don't understand…"

"Octavia, we both know: I'm. In. The. House. Now, tell me where."

The girl looked around, they were on the first floor. In front of her was an archway that lead from the kitchen into the living room, to the left of that room was the entranceway, to the right was the dining room. But to Octavia's immediate left, was a closet. A closet the Blake household rarely ever stored stuff in, a closet deep enough to hold a person.

The girl, moved, first grabbing a sharp knife off the kitchen island, and then in the direction of the closet. She took slow, calculated steps, staring at the off-white door a couple inches in front of her. Her beating heart slowed, begging for her not to open it, her breath stuck in her throat.

One, inhale.

Two, exhale.

Octavia's fingers snaked around the brass knob, she turned it slowly and then all at once, pulling towards her body. The door swung wide open and Octavia jumped back, she peered into the darkness to find,

Nothing.

"Wrong answer." The caller whispered.

The line cut, leaving a sharp shrieking noise on the other end causing Octavia to drop her phone to the ground, the glass shattering beneath her feet.

There was a thud and then,

A dark figure dressed in black, face covered in some cheap Phantom-of-The-Opera-esque mask came lunging out of the darkness and straight for Octavia. She had no idea where the fuck they came from.

Octavia took off running, through wide hallways and then taking sharp zigzags into narrower hallways, she cut through an endless number of rooms. But no matter which way she went, the footsteps behind her followed. She clutched the knife to her ever beating heart.

She was just about to run into the guest room and lock the door behind her when the figure ambushed her, forcing their weight upon her own. The two danced in the darkness, struggling to take control of the tangle. Octavia found herself on the floor, her head smashing against the wooden panels beneath her. The knife once in her hands slid across the room.

The figure sat on her abdomen, pinning her to the floor, "Monty wasn't very good at this game either." They fished underneath their long black robe and pulled out a large knife that resembled one used for hunting and gutting.

Octavia twitched underneath the figure's weight, staring wide eyed at the sharp metal reflecting in the moonlight. "Please…" she mumbled, her eyes became puffy and the tears blurring her vision.

"It's not going to hurt." A lie.

The figure raised the blade above their head and was just about to penetrate their victim, when a door swung open and a voice called out into the darkness.

"Octavia! I'm home!"

"Bellamy!" she shrieked.

The figure was caught off guard for only but a second, which Octavia used to her advantage. She mustered up the adrenaline-born strength to overtake the attacker and push them to the ground, the blade falling with them and creating a thick clanging sound.

She took off running, to the left, to the right, sharp zig-zags, cutting through rooms and finding a light in the darkness.

However, the footsteps followed, never tripping up, and matching her trail. Almost as if they knew this gigantic house better than she did.

But, she would have to get to Bellamy first.

She needed too.

Octavia felt the figure's warm breath pouring down the back of her neck, and at the last second, she hurled herself over the couch in the living room and turned the corner into the entranceway. Behind her, she could hear the figure stumble and fall to the ground, a groan and a moan.

Bellamy stood in the entranceway his hands on the light switch.

Octavia had never been happier to see him. She lunged at the man, pushing her freckly-faced brother into the safety of the night.


End file.
